


Possibility or Silence

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian hates that Mikey can't say what he wants to. After eight months of silence, he's a little angry about it too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possibility or Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



Brian shuffled to the door and pushed it open, being careful of his bruises. He blinked with surprise at the flowers that filled most of the space round the frame, then again at the voice that came from behind them. His moment of amusement at the size and garishness of the bouquet started to fade under a slow burn of anger.

"Um, Brian?" Mikey said, the questioning lilt soft under his monotone. Brian contemplated slamming the door in Mikey's face. He was feeling spiteful enough. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and ignored the twinge from the bruise on his ribs.

"It is actually, but I could have moved sometime in the past eight months. Eight months in which you haven't contacted me."

The flowers wobbled and Brian thought that maybe Mikey was going to drop them. He sort of wanted that, wanted to see Mikey break apart. It would be satisfying to see something other than blank indifference in his face.

"Can I come in?" asked Mikey. Brian thought again about slamming the door, or just making Mikey stammer out whatever it was he had to say there in the hallway, but his legs were aching from standing and he wanted to retreat to the couch with his coffee and a cigarette. He could listen to Mikey stammer inside just as easily. He was angry still, but there was a small spark of curiosity there too. He wanted to hear what Mikey had to say about those eight months, about the month or two of arguing and tension before that. He wanted to hear if Mikey actually felt something, under the mask of indifference and solidarity to shitty band decisions that he'd worn.

"Whatever," he said, stepping back from the door and letting Mikey step inside, turning sideways to get that preposterous bunch of flowers through the door. He pushed it shut and turned to find Mikey's hand shoved forward, bending around the mound of cellophane and paper. The box was professionally wrapped and unmistakable. Brian's lips twitched.

"Anyone would think you'd heard that I was pregnant," he said. "Flowers and chocolate." Mikey managed to get his head round the flowers to peer at Brian quizzically. Brian shook his head. "I'm not," he said. It was best to be clear with Mikey; the dude believed in unicorns. "Whatever Bob's sins, he hasn't knocked me up." Mikey's lips tightened and Brian felt his anger ratchet up a little. He'd been right then, reading between Bob's evasive replies whenever Brian asked about recording. "Put the flowers on the table," he said. Mikey proffered the chocolates again and Brian took them before heading to the couch.

"I heard you were injured," Mikey said. Without the flowers, Brian could see him clearly. He looked worn and tired, perhaps a little thinner than usual. A part of Brian wanted to gloat over the evidence of how badly Mikey was doing without Brian around, but another part of him remembered all his old feelings of protectiveness towards Mikey. That part wanted to push him into a chair and quiz him over his sleeping habits while plying him with food. He lowered himself back to the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table, discarding the box of chocolates there too. He fumbled for his cigarettes and lighter as he watched Mikey fidgeting by the table. He lit up and inhaled slowly, dragging in the bitter smoke before letting it go again.

"I was injured," he said. He didn't ask Mikey to sit down. He knew he was being a bastard, but he was still annoyed and the malicious part of him relished watching Mikey shift from foot to foot with nerves.

"I was worried," Mikey said.

"As you can see, I'm fine."

Mikey didn't say anything as Brian took long drags on his cigarette, sending the smoke streaming to the ceiling like it had personally offended him. He wasn't sure what Mikey was doing here, and he didn't feel like being the one who did the talking. He'd had enough of being the one who reached out all the time and made the effort with Mikey. He wanted an explanation, something, but he wasn't going to ask for it. He gritted his teeth and shifted his cigarette so he could reach for his coffee cup. It was a little out of reach and he looked at it like it had betrayed him. He was going to have to move, and then the bruise on his ribs was going to complain. He hated taking painkillers.

"Here," said Mikey, picking up the cup and pushing it into Brian's hand. "You could have asked for help."

"Because we have the sort of relationship where asking for favours is okay," said Brian. He took the coffee, but his tone was mocking. Mikey towered over him, all long legs and skinny, bony arms. Brian hated himself for noticing.

"We used to," said Mikey.

"That was before you stopped talking to me," said Brian. He sipped at his coffee and took another drag of his cigarette. He hated thinking about those days. He thought he'd let go of all the rage and hurt, but just seeing Mikey was digging it back up and making it fresh and painful, worse that the ache in his muscles.

"I didn't mean to," said Mikey.

"Whatever," said Brian. "You've satisfied yourself that I'm not dead, you've brought me chocolates and flowers, now what?"

"You're still angry with me." Mikey's voice was sad and Brian resolutely squashed his immediate sense of guilt.

"No shit," he said instead. "I thought we were friends."

"We were," protested Mikey. Brian didn't say anything, just looked up at him for a moment longer before shaking his head.

"If that was true, you wouldn't have waited this long to see me, or call me, or even text me, fuck."

"I wanted to," said Mikey.

"Not good enough," said Brian. He felt tired. There were no explanations here, just Mikey and his evasions and fucking inability to say anything straight.

"I've missed you."

Brian snorted. He couldn't help himself. Mikey had always been special to him, and Brian had never been able to stay angry with him. But this hurt, and he was tired and the anger was stubborn and deeply rooted. He squashed out his cigarette and put his coffee cup down.

"I don't believe you," he said. "Eight months, Mikey, eight months since you fucking cut me out of your fucking life, and now you come round to tell me you missed me? No apology, no nothing? Thanks for the fucking chocolates, you can let yourself out."

"I don't know what to say," said Mikey. "I never do." He had his arms wrapped around himself now, like he was scared, but Brian was not going to be suckered into feeling sorry for him.

"If you can't figure it out, you know where the door is," said Brian. He knew it was rude, but he was so tired, and so hurt and angry. He didn't really want Mikey to go. He wanted to curl his hands over Mikey's sharp shoulders and shake him hard until all Mikey's words tumbled out and he fucking said something that was true. Brian was sick of silence, and, before that, second guessing and worrying. If he couldn't have that truth, then he was better off with the silence. He contemplated getting up and getting a coffee, just to give himself something to do with his hands.

Brian was startled when Mikey dropped to his knees next to him. He was as graceless as the folding up of a giraffe, but the look on his face was half determined, half embarrassed. His hands landed on Brian's thighs, light but not hesitant.

"I don't want to go," he said. "I missed you. I never wanted to hurt you."

"What the fuck are you doing?" asked Brian. He'd never thought that he'd get Mikey on his knees like this, full of guilt and awkward remorse.

"I want to make it up to you," he said. His hands slid up Brian's legs, gentle on the cotton of his sweats. Brian tried to shut down the instinctive reaction of his body. Mikey couldn't mean that he was willing to beg forgiveness with sexual favours, and, even if he did, what sort of asshole would it make Brian, if he accepted them? He pushed Mikey's hands away.

"You don't need to buy my forgiveness with your body," he said roughly. Mikey blinked up at him and licked his lips, and Brian was sure that he saw a look of disappointment flicker over his face.

"I don't know how else to tell you," he said.

"Just tell me," exploded Brian, flinging his hands into the air and ignoring the pain from his ribs. "Use your words! It's not like I'm going to laugh, is it? It's not like I'm going to judge you or think you're stupid or any of the stupid fucking things you get stuck in your head and think of again and again until you're too tangled up to just fucking say what you mean."

Mikey blinked up at him again and Brian sighed. All his anger was fading, leaving him weary and sad. He wasn't sure that Mikey would ever be able to say what he wanted to.

"It hurt when you cut me out of your life," Brian said. He couldn't gentle his voice; he saw Mikey flinch under the words.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," said Mikey.

"You never mean to. You never do." Brian sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Tell me something that's true," he said. Mikey dropped his gaze but didn't move away from Brian.

"I don't want to buy your forgiveness with my body," he said. "I've wanted you for as long as I've known you, and this seemed like it might be my only chance."

Brian wasn't sure where to go with that. He stared down at the top of Mikey's bent head. He could hardly believe this. He'd never guessed, not once. Mikey had never given himself away.

"And giving me a shitty, grudging blow job was your way of showing how much you wanted me?" he asked. His voice was faint and he saw Mikey's shoulders hunch up. He reached out and curled his hands over Mikey's shoulders, not shaking, just dragging him closer. Mikey kind of folded on top of him, face pressed to Brian's stomach and arms wedged awkwardly around as much of him as he could get at.

"It wouldn't be shitty," Mikey mumbled. "Or grudging."

"You ignored me, cut me out of your life for _months_," said Brian.

"I was scared."

Brian looked down at Mikey, at the half-hidden profile of his face, the way his t-shirt stretched over his shoulders, and Brian couldn't understand how they'd ended up here. All his anger was gone and he felt like laughing, the sort of half-hysterical laughter that came with surprises like this one. He'd liked Mikey from the start and just pushed it aside for so long that it had become habit, and now here was Mikey on his knees for Brian. It had to be the most unexpected revelation of all and he wasn't quite sure where to go with it.

His body wasn't so confused. Mikey's breath was puffing hot onto Brian's belly, his mouth just inches from Brian's dick. Mikey twisted slightly to look up at him.

"I was scared," he said again. "I don't like it when people are angry and fighting, and I thought you'd never want me. And even if you did, I couldn't do anything about it when you were our manager."

"So why the silence?" asked Brian. He let the rest go; it wasn't like he'd ever been willing to take the risk either.

"I got too tangled up in my head, too shy, too fucked up. I thought you wouldn't want to hear from me."

"You're an idiot," said Brian. "Seriously, an idiot." He wanted to shake Mikey again, but he just moved his hands from Mikey's shoulders down to his neck. "I wanted to throttle the truth out of you," he said. "I just want you to tell me things."

"Sometimes, I forget that it's okay." Mikey looked very serious and the last of Brian's anger left him, leaving him weary and cold. He rubbed his thumb over Mikey's throat.

"It's hard to remind you when you're not around," he said.

"I'm here now. I'm still on my knees for you."

Brian could see the expression clear on Mikey's face now, the faint, affectionate smile that lingered around his mouth and eyes. He wanted to stop, tell Mikey to get up and sit next to him and have a coffee and talk all their shit out. He wanted to hear all that Mikey had to say, but Mikey sat up a little further and put his hand back on Brian's thigh. Brian wanted to push him away, but Mikey stretched up and pressed a kiss to Brian's lips.

It was a simple kiss, but Brian's hands moved on Mikey's neck, shifting him so that Brian could kiss him again, harder this time, mouth opening slightly. Mikey breathed deep and went with his movements, the hand on Brian's thigh moving up to rest on his hip, fingers splayed so that some rested, cool, against the bare skin of Brian's stomach. Keeping the kiss light, Brian enjoyed the texture of Mikey's skin, the softness of his lips. Mikey made a little noise and pushed closer, edging the kiss into something hot, something closer to desperate. He shifted his hand again, moving it to palm over Brian's dick. Gasping, Brian's fingers tightened on Mikey's jaw and the kiss got harder. He was sure, in the back of his mind, that he should be stopping this madness, should be sitting Mikey down and talking with him about the boundaries of what they were doing, and their expectations, but Mikey's hand curved around his hardening cock and Brian felt all his resolve splintering. Maybe Mikey would be easier to talk to when he was loose and relaxed after sex anyway.

Then Mikey pulled away from the kiss. His lips were red and slightly swollen. Brian licked over his own and watched Mikey's smile, hot and promising, blossom over his face. "How injured are you?" he asked.

"A few bruises," Brian said.

"Spread your legs for me." He helped Brian move them off the coffee table, hands gentle, before positioning himself between them. He ran his palms up Brian's thighs and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his sweats. He worked them lower, trying not to make Brian move too much, and the look of concentration on his face was nearly as much of a turn on as the brush of his knuckles over Brian's skin.

Brian wished that he wasn't hurt, that he could grab Mikey and drag him up onto the couch with him, but this slow build was intoxicating. He let Mikey take his time, letting him plant kisses over the top of Brian's thighs and over the bruise at the edge of his hipbone. He wanted to see what Mikey would tell him with his body, so he clenched his fists on the fabric of the couch and schooled his impatience. When Mikey finally mouthed over the shaft of Brian's cock, it was accompanied by a sly upward glance, one that spoke of Mikey's sense of anticipation and enjoyment. Brian watched his lips open, breathing in deeply and letting it go on a soft murmur of pleasure. Mikey moved slowly, deliberately. It wasn't teasing, Brian realised, but the desire to take his time and cement this in his mind. Brian shifted one hand to Mikey's face, tracing gently over the planes and sharp angles.

Mikey's mouth was soft and beautifully wet, his hands alternately soothing and inflaming further with gentle touches. Brian sat back and enjoyed it all, letting Mikey work him up slowly. Alternating his hand and mouth, Mikey did so. He looked beautiful, eyes fluttered shut in dedicated pleasure. Brian wanted this to last forever, but Mikey drew him on inexorably. Brian couldn't shift, couldn't thrust; he found he liked having to wait for Mikey. Each touch was something Mikey couldn't say with words, and Brian wanted to let him act out everything he thought of. He couldn't ever remember listening so attentively.

His orgasm was just as quiet and languid as the build-up had been. Brian gasped Mikey's name and tried to warn him. Mikey ignored it, keeping his head down and gentling Brian through the shaky aftermath. He lifted his face, finally, and his cheeks were flushed red.

"Give me a minute," Brian said. He slid his hand into Mikey's hair and tugged gently with a smile.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Mikey. Brian arched his eyebrows. Mikey sounded more definite than he usually did. Perhaps sex was a cure for his lack of articulation. "I'm going to help you to bed and we are going to snuggle gently."

"It's a bit late to think of my injuries."

"I'll whisper all my secrets," said Mikey.

"It will be the naked blanket fort of secret safety?" asked Brian.

"Did I say we'd be naked?"

Brian laughed, hand over his ribs. "It's good for my bruises," he said.

"Medicinal nudity is allowed," said Mikey. He stood and offered his hand to Brian, helping him to stand and shuffle towards the bedroom. "Shall I bring the flowers to put next to your sickbed?"

Brian laughed. "Bring the chocolate," he replied. It wasn't the end, and he wasn't sure that the day wouldn't finish with him waving goodbye to Mikey forever. But there were more possibilities now, and Brian liked that.


End file.
